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the guardian, 22 June 2017 |
Tim Ashley |
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Verdi: Otello, Royal Opera House, London, 21. Juni 2017 |
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Kaufmann thrills in a dark, expressionistic staging
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In his role debut, Jonas Kaufmann’s arrestingly-sung Otello is a charismatic and troubled outsider in a production that can feel heavy-handed |
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Directed by Keith Warner, the Royal Opera’s new production of Verdi’s Otello
marks Jonas Kaufmann’s long-awaited debut in the title role, one frequently
regarded as a turning point in the careers of tenors who have tackled it.
His interpretation will doubtless deepen over time, but this is already an
accomplished portrayal, sung and acted, for the most part, with considerable
intelligence.
Avoiding black makeup, his Otello is essentially a
charismatic outsider, as much Byronic as Shakespearean, whose public and
private personae are fatally at odds. We first see him hoisted over the
crowd on the Cyprus dockside, glamorous in leathers, fearlessly commanding.
In the love duet, however, he approaches Maria Agresta’s Desdemona with shy,
almost naive adoration. As Marco Vratogna’s Iago plies his psychological
poison, Kaufmann cracks slowly, revealing both lonely introversion and dark
sexual obsessions. The scene in which he calls Desdemona a whore is
disturbingly done as he pins her to a wall, forcing kisses upon her.
He sings most arrestingly. His voice rings comfortably through the opening
Esultate. Elsewhere, we find hushed pianissimos and careful dynamic control.
Dio Mi Potevi is beautifully contained, the emotional agony suggested by the
ebb and flow of inflections rather than melodramatic declamation. In moments
of fury, however, his tone can lack menace. The cries of “sangue” in the
second act don’t bite as they might, though there’s no mistaking the thrill
and power with which he launches the subsequent duet with Iago.
What
surrounds him is variable. Warner’s staging is essentially expressionistic.
Black walls open to reveal filigree screens that, in turn, create patterns
suggesting the occlusion of Otello’s mind. Chorus gestures are stylised.
Mindful, perhaps, that Verdi’s original working title for the work was
“Iago”, Warner makes Vratogna a malign prime mover, who sets in motion the
opening storm and sings his Credo as if to infernal spirits beneath the
stage’s floor. In the second half, the symbolism turns heavy-handed, as
graffitied walls reveal what’s going on in Otello’s head and the
white-on-white design for Desdemona’s bedroom too obviously emphasises her
innocence.
Vratogna impresses, but is inclined to snarl in places.
Desdemona suits Agresta more than some of the other roles she has sung in
London recently, though dramatically she can be disengaged. Antonio Pappano
drives the score hard, without attaining anything like the cogency he
achieved in 2012, in the final revival of the previous production. The
choral singing is electric throughout.
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